Claimed For The De Carrillo Twins. Эбби Грин

glared at her. ‘No, it wasn’t. At least you’re being honest about that.’

      Trinity shivered under his look. His anger was palpable now. She said then, ‘I did care for him.’

      Before Cruz could respond to that there was a commotion outside, and Mrs Jordan appeared in the doorway with a wailing Sancho, who was leaning out of her arms towards Trinity, saying pitifully, ‘Mummy...’

      Everything suddenly forgotten, she rushed forward and took him into her arms, rubbing his back and soothing him.

      Mrs Jordan said apologetically, ‘Matty hit him over the head with his plastic cup. It’s nothing serious, but he’s fractious after not sleeping well again last night.’

      Trinity nodded and Mrs Jordan left to go back to Matty. She was walking up and down, soothing a now hiccupping Sancho, when she realised Cruz was staring at her with an angry look on his face.

      He said almost accusingly, ‘What’s wrong with him?’

      Suddenly Trinity was incredibly weary. ‘Nothing much. He had a bug and he hasn’t been sleeping, so he’s in bad form. Matty just wound him up.’ When Cruz didn’t look appeased she said, ‘Really, it’s nothing.’ She felt exposed under Cruz’s judgemental look. ‘Let me settle him down for a nap. That’s all he needs.’

      * * *

      Cruz watched Trinity walk out of the room with Sancho in her arms, his nephew’s small, chubby ones wrapped tight around her neck, his flushed face buried in her neck as if it was a habitual reflex for seeking comfort. He had stopped crying almost as soon as he’d gone into her arms.

      Cruz had felt a totally uncharacteristic sense of helplessness seeing his nephew like that. It reminded him uncomfortably of his own childhood, hearing Rio cry but being unable to do anything to help him—either because Rio would glare at him with simmering resentment or his father would hold him back with a cruel hand.

      Sancho’s cries hadn’t fazed Trinity, though. In fact she’d looked remarkably capable.

      Feeling angry all over again, and this time for a reason he couldn’t really pinpoint, Cruz turned back to the window. He ran a hand through his hair and then loosened his tie, feeling constricted. And he felt even more constricted in another area of his anatomy when he recalled how his gaze had immediately dropped to take in the provocative swell of Trinity’s bottom as she’d walked away, her long legs encased in those faded jeans that clung like a second skin.

      Damn her.

      Witnessing this little incident was forcing Cruz to stop and think about what he was doing here. It was obvious that not only had Trinity seduced Rio for her own ends, she’d also ensured that the boys would depend on her...in case of this very scenario?

      Cruz thought of pursuing his plans to take Trinity to court to fight her for custody, but he’d already seen what a good actress she was. If someone were to come to the house and see her interacting with his nephews they wouldn’t be able to help being swayed by her apparent love and concern. As he had just been.

      And did he really want to court a PR frenzy by pitting himself against the grieving widow of his brother? He knew she wasn’t grieving—she wasn’t even pretending. But no one else would see that. They’d only see him, a ruthless billionaire, protecting his family fortune.

      It had taken him since his father’s death to change the perception his father had left behind of a failing and archaic bank, blighted by his father’s numerous high-profile affairs. Did he really want to jeopardise all that hard work?

      Something hardened inside him as he had to acknowledge how neatly Trinity had protected herself. She was potentially even worse than he’d thought—using his nephews like this, manipulating them to need her.

      She’d lived a quiet life since Rio’s death—she’d only moved between the house, the local shops and the nearby park. No shopping on Bond Street or high-profile social events.

      When she’d been with Rio, Cruz had seen countless pictures of them at parties and premieres, so she had to be approaching the end of her boredom threshold.

      He thought again of her assertion that she loved the boys... He couldn’t countenance for a second that she loved these children who weren’t even her own flesh and blood.

      A memory of his own mother came back with startling clarity—he’d been a young teenager and he’d confronted her one day, incensed on her behalf that his father had been photographed in the papers with his latest mistress.

      She’d just looked at him and said witheringly, ‘The only mistake he made, Cruz, was getting caught. This is how our world works.’ She’d laughed then—nastily. ‘Dios mio, please tell me you’re not so naive as to believe we married because we actually had feelings for one another?’

      He’d looked at his mother in shock. No, he’d never laboured under the misapprehension that any such thing as affection existed between his parents, but he’d realised in that moment that some tiny part of him that hadn’t been obliterated after years of only the most perfunctory parenting had still harboured a kernel of hope that something meaningful existed... Shame had engulfed him for being so naive.